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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695291">Just a Roll of the Dice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic'>viklikesfic (v_angelique)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Games, Body Shots, Choking, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nipple Play, Punching, Sex dice, Spanking, Steve Rogers is a very good boy, Threesome - M/M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:07:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I got “sex dice” for my Marvel Polyshipping Bingo card, and I had planned to write it but 2020 got the better of me. So here it is, now, just for funsies! Alternate title: Steve Takes All Teasing As a Double-Dog Dare.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Just a Roll of the Dice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Why not poker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span> of poker,” Clint whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go fish?” Tony snickers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired of </span>
  <em>
    <span>cards</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were a carnie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ex. Anyway, soldiers and Russian spies play more cards than carnies, in my experience. We were always too busy hauling shit.” Clint takes a sip from his beer, looks thoughtful. “I guess we don’t really have enough people for spin the bottle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony barks out a laugh at that, and Steve just eyes him quizzically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them have been drinking in the common area, at Tony’s insistence, even though Steve can’t get </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“One man drinking is sad, two’s a date,” he’d explained when he dragged Steve out of his room after dinner. No one else is around the Avengers’ suites tonight, so Steve can’t suggest Tony find an alternative drinking buddy. And, he finds, he doesn’t actually want to. Steve likes Clint, and he and Tony are settling into a friendly sort of repartee even if they still bicker like an old married couple. Besides, even if it doesn’t get him drunk, Steve secretly enjoys the taste of the fancy Belgian craft beers Tony keeps on hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony ignores Steve’s expression, grinning as he points at Clint with the mouth of his bottle. “Yeah, and I’m all out of sex dice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex dice</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Clint moans. “Did anyone actually buy those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shrugs. “I had a set for a while. For parties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I want to ask?” Steve ventures, eyeing the two of them with bemusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sex dice. A legacy of a grand experiment known as Hot Topic,” Clint sighs nostalgically. “It’s a shame you never got to experience the joys of a suburban mall in the nineties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A shopping mall?” Steve frowns. “I’ve been to one of those.” It was extremely luxurious, he was being escorted by Pepper Potts to find clothing at the time (punishment for refusing Tony’s tailor, though he enjoyed Miss Potts’ company well enough), and he’s not certain all malls are like that. But he does have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but malls are different now. Hot Topic was a national treasure. Where else could you buy a death metal t-shirt, a lava lamp, a tongue ring, and a vibrator all at the same time? I mean… other than off of Tony Stark,” Clint snickers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Tony objects. “Mock my lava lamp if you want, but I never had a tongue piercing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you have a piercing?” Clint grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, all right,” Steve laughs. “So… these stores sold… dice. For sex? What would you do with dice during sex?” He frowns a little, imagining the possibilities. Sure, he knows modern women enjoy the insertion of various and sundry purpose-built toys from time to time, but tiny plastic cubes? That’s gotta be asking for trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>during</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex,” Clint corrects. “Well… maybe. But the point was more foreplay. Party games. Y’know, can’t get folks loosened up enough for a orgy, just toss a big fuzzy die on the floor and do whatever it tells you to whomever’s willing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine came in a pair,” Tony clarifies. “One action, one body part.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Of course, Steve already knew about orgies before he showed up in the 2010s. He knew about sex clubs, even, or rumors of them. What he didn’t know about was commercially-manufactured objects designed to provide a </span>
  <em>
    <span>menu</span>
  </em>
  <span> for such an event. Steve’s pretty sure even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> could come up with a few ideas for sexual activities without assistance, and he also usually likes to get to know someone and take them to an actual bed before engaging in such activities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve thinks about it, though, Tony rolling a pair of dice and being instructed to lick some woman’s neck in front of a party full of people. He imagines Tony, all cocky, strolling up to her, and the rest of his guests watching him lay on the infamous Stark charm. Steve’s not sure whether to be horrified, turned on, or both. Fortunately, both of the other men are drinking, and even Hawkeye isn’t paying Steve’s microexpressions much attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one actually has them anymore,” Tony admits, sounding a little sad. “Though, technically, you could just use regular dice. Write up the ideas on a piece of paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One person writes them, or the whole group?” Clint asks, as if it’s a serious question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… actually, more fun, forget the body part-action combo thing. You just have everyone write one thing for each number, 1-6, and then the number you roll, you have to do the things listed for that number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So the person who rolls does the things? With which other person? </span>
  <em>
    <span>All</span>
  </em>
  <span> the people?” Steve asks. They’re obviously just shooting the shit, but Steve is still practically compelled to consider the tactics of a thing. He imagines in such a game, it might at least be an advantage to get to choose your victim(s).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Tony laughs. “Maybe… look, you want to have consent, obviously. And you could roll something you’re not willing to do at all. So… the person who rolls gets to pick who does what to whom. Mix it up, if you want. And the other people can decline, and there’s a safeword.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Safeword?” Steve frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like ‘coconuts’ or something. Something you wouldn’t normally say, to stop everything outright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could work,” Clint muses, finishing off his beer and striding over to the fridge for another. “Not at a big party, though. You’d have like… twenty things per number. It’d take too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.” Tony gives Steve a slow smirk. “How about with three, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stares so long at his eyes and his teasing mouth that Tony misreads him as uncomfortable, and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fucking goad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kidding, Rogers, don’t have a conniption.” Tony smirks, all cocky, and suddenly Steve has something to prove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t having a conniption. I was thinking. What about just verbs? That might be a little more challenging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I don’t know, Steven,” Tony teases. “I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> verbs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Steve replies evenly, putting down his empty bottle and pushing to his feet. “Let’s do it. I’ll get pens and a die.” He walks over to a shelf where Tony keeps game supplies—a set of darts, a few packs of cards, several boxes of poker chips, dice, notepads, and a few extremely difficult 3D puzzles for himself and Bruce to fidget with. Steve forces himself not to look back to see their reactions, and he also keeps his movements slow, giving the red in his cheeks a chance to go down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not drunk enough for this,” Clint declares when Steve returns with a single die, a handful of pens, and a notepad. “But I’d like to be.” He takes a swig of his beer and gives Steve a look so over-the-top flirtatious that he decides Clint isn’t actually pressuring himself, but genuinely has an interest in the game. Tony’s eyes, on the other hand, are dark and unreadable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… six verbs.” Steve hands out the pens and sheets of paper, and Tony immediately sticks his pen between his teeth. Steve wonders if he’s drawing attention to his mouth on purpose. But he still doesn’t half believe they’ll both go through with it. “Verbs you can carry out with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>pants on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stark,” Steve specifies after a few moments of thinking. Clint, ballpoint already scribbling, frowns and scratches something out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, pants, no,” he sighs sadly, and then scratches out two more items. Steve goes from half-waiting for a “no homo” to suddenly a little alarmed, and wonders if his “kissing” for the first prompt was too obvious, or too tame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just not being creative enough, Barton,” Tony grins. He writes a couple of things down on his paper and Steve frowns, turning to his own work. He thinks of a few more words, then pauses, deliberating how far to go. Well… “pants on” was the only stated parameter. They get to decline. He thinks of two ideas, then looks up to find the other two men also finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Tony announces. “Hand ‘em over.” He glances down as he takes their sheets and then his eyes go suddenly wide before he shuffles them into a pile. “Choking, seriously?” He looks up at Steve and Steve meets his gaze determinedly, only feeling his cheeks go a little warm. He raises his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we judging each other? I didn’t think we were judging each other.” His tone is deliberately mild, and Tony just stares at him another moment before grabbing the die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. This is all your fault, Hawkeye, so you go first.” He tosses the bright purple cube at Clint, and of course the archer easily catches it out of the air one-handed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is it </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s always your fault,” Tony and Steve chime in unison, and then shoot each other a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No whammies, no whammies,” Clint mutters, blowing on the die. Steve doesn’t ask. He rolls a one, and Tony consults the three lists. Perhaps it’s by silent agreement that he hasn’t looked at the combinations before the first roll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. Gentleman’s choice is scratching, kissing, and…” He frowns as he looks at the bottom page. “Kissing again. So… scratching and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of kissing?” Tony smirks, and Clint just holds his arms out cockily, his thighs spread wide in his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You down, Stark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always.” Tony’s grin is predictably cocky as he strides over to Clint, though Steve can’t help but notice that Tony’s social life isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> as lascivious as some magazines might have you believe. In fact, since Pepper, Steve’s only seen a few people (mostly women) in the Tower that might’ve been Tony’s date. Still, he climbs into Clint’s lap, kneeling in his chair like he does this every day, and tilts his head for what has to be a deep kiss. Steve can’t actually see, as his chair’s directly across from Clint’s, and it must be rude to actually get up and walk around for a better view in such a game. He’s not even sure they realize that he’s bisexual, like them. They very well might think he’s trying to win a game of gay chicken, or is just trying to be an open-minded 21st century straight man who doesn’t get bothered by kissing his friends. Well. He doesn’t think that impression will survive this game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony lets out a sharp hiss. Steve realizes, at that exact moment, that they never specifically negotiated who was scratching whom, but surely Tony would’ve specified if he cared. And he doesn’t complain as Clint’s nails rake up his back, rucking up his t-shirt. He just rolls his hips a little, giving Steve an </span>
  <em>
    <span>excellent</span>
  </em>
  <span> view of his bubble butt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Yes, Steve’s noticed that ass, but honestly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>has noticed that ass. He’s hardly in the minority.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice,” Clint drawls, low enough that it’s only Steve’s super-hearing that allows him to catch it. Tony slides off his lap, and when he returns to the sofa he was sitting on Steve notices his lips are a little darker, the skin around them slightly reddened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My go, then.” Tony grabs the die up off the coffee table and gives it a neat roll with a flick of his wrist. It lands on a one again. Tony tilts his head to the side, observing it, and then lets his mouth curve into a slow smile that makes Steve’s skin warm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is dangerous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “All right, Rogers. Same idea. Show me some variety.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony smirks and starts to get up, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> say variety, so Steve quickly pushes up from his chair and shoves Tony back against the far armrest of the sofa. Tony makes a sharp, surprised noise as he lands, but he doesn’t object, letting Steve lean over him and kiss him on the mouth, this one tentative and teasing the way he’s certain Tony and Clint’s kiss was deep and dirty. He doesn’t feel a need to be showy with Tony. And if he’s perfectly honest with himself, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to savor the first slow brush of his lips over Tony’s own, even if it’s the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve takes a breath and comes in again, feeling the rough tickle of Tony’s facial hair, coaxing Tony’s lower lip between his own. Tony makes a soft sound and Steve introduces the scratching slowly, down the sides of his neck with both hands, his nails digging in deep but moving at a glacial pace. Tony hums and sucks Steve’s bottom lip this time, his teeth barely nipping. Steve loses himself a little, scratching his nails hard up through Tony’s hair, and that gets him a moan, a bit of tongue slipped, before Clint’s laughing and Steve pulls away reluctantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, yak it up,” he shoots at Clint, resuming a seat but this time landing next to Tony on the sofa. His beer is still within reach, and he takes a sip as if it will actually fortify him before grabbing the die. He rolls it onto the floor, but it lands on a two, and Tony reads from the lists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, this one’s… nipple-pinching, because I like specificity. Biting… and cuddling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve wrote the word cuddling, he didn’t know it was going to be combined with two such </span>
  <em>
    <span>intense </span>
  </em>
  <span>verbs. But he doesn’t dislike the combination, either, and taking the excuse that he’s already right there, grins at Tony. “Let’s see your cuddle game, Stark. You two can divvy up the rest, dealer’s choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s voice goes more Brooklyn, drops the R, and it’s a little deeper too. He leans into Tony’s open arms and finds himself draped across Tony’s torso (though leaning a bit, too, to the side, so as not to make Tony’s augmented chest take all his weight). Tony holds him close as if they already do this habitually, somehow using his smaller body to make Steve feel surrounded—one leg curling around his waist, the other slotting between Steve’s legs, so that his half-chub is against Tony’s thigh. Steve’s lean to one side angles his neck towards the back of the sofa, where Clint leans down and latches on to the back of it with his teeth. He holds Steve’s head in place with both hands, the fingers broad and calloused, and presses deeper and deeper marks into Steve’s neck. He knows the marks themselves will fade, but his pain is no less than it was before the serum. Maybe even more amplified, sharper like all his senses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank God he’s a bit of a masochist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Tony is quickly going to learn, as Steve breathes warm air against his neck, squirming and making harsh little panting sounds the harder Clint bites. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” Tony murmurs. Clint lifts his head, but Tony quickly waves him off. “No, no, go back to that. I just realized something.” He stops stroking his hands down Steve’s back, holding him gently, and hauls him up slightly higher by the biceps. Steve has to cooperate, of course, but he does, and Clint easily follows. He ends up with Tony’s lips at his ear, practically purring. “You never actually said anything about what direction we were doing things in. You just </span>
  <em>
    <span>assumed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Tony’s hands trail down to grab a firm hold of both cheeks, his thigh grinding up into Steve’s balls. “Hot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Steve whispers, blood flooding his face. But he’s still reacting, still whimpering, as Clint’s teeth dig into his neck and Tony’s thigh digs into his groin. “I’m sorry, I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tony snarls, whispering in his ear. “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shivers all over, and then Tony reaches between them, getting his hands up under Steve’s undershirt. He grabs a hold of both nipples, pinching them tight. Then slowly, so slowly he pulls them out, away from Steve’s chest, the backs of his hands straining the fabric of Steve’s standard checkered dress shirt. His pecs are ridiculous in this body. He’s pretty sure his shirt size had to be special-ordered in advance of that mall trip with Miss Potts. But also, his nipples feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He forgot to warn them. But he definitely can’t ask Tony to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint pulls away slowly, so slowly that the feel of his teeth lingers as a phantom even after he’s no longer touching Steve’s body. Tony releases his nipples just as slowly, then withdraws his hands from the layers and gives Steve a friendly shove, grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need another round,” Tony declares. “Rogers, you too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Steve agrees, and he’s afraid it comes out sultry or begging rather than matter-of-fact. Clint’s eyeing him sharply standing at one end of the sofa, like he’s a long-range target and Clint’s got a lock. Steve blushes and rubs his palms against his knees. There’s the sound of gas escaping from each bottle with a crack, and then Tony returns. Steve gratefully gulps down a few swallows of cold beer in a row. Clint scoops the die up off the floor and rolls a three.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spooning… </span>
  <em>
    <span>stroking</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tony smirks, picking the papers back up. “And hair-pulling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I’ll do all of that to Cap, thanks,” Clint immediately declares. He says it like it’s perfunctory and obvious. Steve licks his lips as Tony gracefully rises from the sofa and lets Clint take his place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint pulls Steve back against his chest, lying on their sides facing Tony (</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, right, spoons</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and tugs Steve’s head back onto his shoulder by the hair. That makes it easier to look up at Tony’s face, and the bright spark of pain makes Steve gasp. Tony looks down at him with avarice, meeting Steve’s eyes in an unflinching stare. Clint trails his fingertips up Steve’s stomach, over his chest, and he shivers at  the light touch. Frustrated with the buttons of Steve’s shirt, Clint undoes them from the bottom up, one-handed, even with some of Steve’s weight on his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sips slowly at his beer, eyes locked on Steve’s, and Steve licks his lips again helplessly. Tony’s eyes trace the movement, and Clint’s fingers brush over his nipples through his undershirt, sparking a phantom of the pinch from last round. Tony mentioned piercings. Steve wonders if he’s ever got his nipples…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Tony interrupts, like he’s in charge, when Clint’s hand drifts below the waistline. “My roll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling a bit like syrup, Steve forces himself to sit up, letting Clint slink out from behind him with his usual grace (when he’s not falling on his ass, anyway, it’s about 50-50). Tony </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> rolls a 3, and Clint grins at him before he can make any choices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, Stark. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>imminently</span>
  </em>
  <span> pullable hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Tony smirks and steps around the coffee table, pushing it a little further from the sofa. “How’s this?” He fists his hands hard in Clint’s hair, barely long enough to grab, as far as Steve can see, and guides him down to the floor. Clint makes a low, aroused sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lie down again, Steve,” Tony beckons, his voice soft and without its usual snark. It makes something go warm and loose in Steve, and he responds to the tone, stretching out on his side. Tony lies alongside him, the smaller “spoon” this time, and Steve holds him as he pulls rhythmically at Clint’s hair. Steve likes it this way just as much, curling his entire body around Tony’s and getting to smell his hair as he strokes the other man’s body through a thin layer of clothing. When they unwind this time, they do so with obvious reluctance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rolls a six and Tony consults the sheet. Clint’s still on the floor, but he takes a few more swallows of beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have slapping, sucking, and spanking,” Tony reads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw,” Clint complains. “Slapping and spanking? That’s the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tony disagrees, and now he’s staring blatantly at Steve, sitting on the sofa next to him. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Steve inhales sharply. He’s thinking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, too, and he knows Tony knows it. He holds Tony’s gaze hard and long, and then finally drops it, taking a breath to gather himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Steve says, back to casually flirtatious as he turns to Clint. “Spanking, huh? You’ve got broad hands, Hawkeye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” is Clint’s eloquent reply. Steve laughs and suddenly he realizes he’s feeling easy and sensual throughout his body, like a contact high. He slides back on the extra-long sofa, like he’s about to get up, but then shifts around and </span>
  <em>
    <span>crawls</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Tony. He guides Tony’s fingers into his mouth, taking three, then sticks his ass out. Tony doesn’t take his eyes off Steve for one moment. He presses down on Steve’s tongue as he sucks, and Steve moans as Clint’s hand comes down hard on his ass. The other hand braces Steve’s lower back, his loose shirt and his undershirt pushed up for warm skin-to-skin contact. Each contact of Clint’s palm is firm and jarring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony holds eye contact as Clint spanks him the first dozen times, and then slowly starts slapping Steve’s cheek with his free hand. He’s been picturing this (among other things) since Tony disagreed with Clint that the words meant the same thing, and Steve’s dick is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard it’s starting to hurt. Tony never lets the eye contact slip, not as the slaps grow more stinging, displacing more air, coming to his face with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve’s eye starts to water, but he barely blinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamn,” Clint mutters, never wavering in his own steady rhythm, but Steve can feel Clint shift his weight to look up. He’s reacting to Tony slowly drawing the spit out of Steve’s mouth with his fingers, making a trail in the air… and then a lightning-fast strike to his other cheek. The wet makes it hurt more, stinging bright in contrast to the duller throb of the first side. Steve pants and takes another. Tony’s hand braces his head, so there’s nothing to suck, but Steve still lets his jaw hang, open-mouthed, tongue loose in his mouth as he stares up at Tony like he’s an idol. Clint groans from behind Steve and drags him up to his knees, kneeling behind him on the sofa. “He wants it harder, Stark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell,” Tony says, low and intent, and Steve gasps as Clint locks him in place, sliding his arms through Steve’s. Tony carefully braces his head to avoid whiplash and then backhands him </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> across the cheek. Steve’s ears ring for a moment. His face throbs, and he jerks against Clint’s hard body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More,” he gasps, and Tony does it again, twice forehand and backhand. Steve shudders like he’s coming, except his dick’s still hard and only leaking precome into his underwear. Tony gets </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> up into his face like he’s going to kiss him, and Steve’s gonna let him, but then Tony remembers himself and backs off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can stop at any time,” he says to Steve, slowly. Clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Steve quickly gasps. “No,” he repeats more firmly, as Tony drags the backs of his knuckles over Steve’s still-flaming cheek. There’s an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>bruise</span>
  </em>
  <span> to heal, it’ll last at least a few minutes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve gropes for the die and hands it back to Clint, even as he couldn’t give a single fuck about the game. Tony’s still carefully coloring inside the lines of what the die tells them to do, so Steve can follow suit. “Your roll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint giggles near Steve’s ear and rolls a five. Tony grabs his papers, reads the results silently this time, and then passes them over to Clint. Clint reads them, then tugs Steve back by the hair so he can see, grinning like a shark. “Let’s see,” he drawls, not even bothering to negotiate. “Grabbing,” Clint says as he tugs Steve roughly back against his chest again, letting the papers flutter to the floor. “Choking.” Clint’s big hand spans his throat, and Steve thanks </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, Mary, and Joseph all </span>
  </em>
  <span>he decided to go for that particular verb. “And grinding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Clint doesn’t respond as expected to the final prompt. Instead of simply rocking his erection (a sizeable bulge, Steve can feel it) into Steve’s ass, he presses the heel of his free hand down hard into the top of Steve’s thigh and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>drags</span>
  </em>
  <span> it down with a twist, the friction of Steve’s pants causing a burn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tony praises, watching Steve arching and trying to gasp but finding himself unable to really inhale. Clint’s hands work in opposition to each other, and Steve feels himself start to float. He’s only been here a few times, but he remembers it fondly. He feels safe despite the technical danger, knowing Clint’s expertise. Tony sits down in front of him as Clint does the same move again after allowing Steve a tiny sip of a breath. Clint’s hand grinds down the front of his thigh and Steve chokes for air as he endures the pain. “Well you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> pick choking, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, his tone gently mocking. “You weren’t exactly trying to hide it. Though… you know what verb we forgot?” He bends to Steve’s ear, as Clint forces him down with his hand near the join of Steve’s hip, and whispers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gasps for the air Clint doesn’t give him, and Tony covers Clint’s hand on Steve’s thigh with his own, nudges him to grind down harder.  Steve’s eyes go wide, pleading, and Tony holds him as he jerks. A supersoldier can hold his breath for a long time, but Steve’s starting to feel pricks of black in his vision when Tony finally pushes Clint’s hand away from his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must have signalled him not to stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve thinks blearily. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tony would know exactly how many seconds I can hold my breath for, and be able to factor in any variables in his head</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve’s dick is really having trouble handling that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s not sure how he manages to sort himself out again, to tilt lazily to the side and end up on his butt. He’s lost track of the turns, but Tony grabs the die and nobody argues. They’re sitting all thigh-to-thigh now, only taking up the middle 50% of the sofa’s length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony rolls a 4 and grins as he reads the pages. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Begging</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steven? I know your handwriting.” Steve thinks he’s probably blushing, but he also gives Tony a lazy smile, not denying it. “All right, how about this. We’ve got dirty talk, begging, and licking. So you lick me, and I’ll beg dirty.” He tugs his shirt up over his head and Steve appreciates the view, but also appreciates the opportunity to regain his footing a bit and have a break from being the center of attention. He’s surprised that Tony wants to beg him, but sure, why not? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony scoots along the sofa to sit with his legs in a V, back against the armrest. Steve crawls into the space, leaning in to lick the line of his collarbone, aiming to make the other man melt. And then Tony opens his goddamned mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right, Steve. Lick me like you wanna lick my cock,” he rasps, all gravely and sure. “Would you like me to beg you for it? Beg you to let me ruin your throat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gasps sharply, almost sucks the jut of bone under his lips, and then reminds himself of the verb at hand. He traces the edge of the arc reactor, awed that Tony’s trusting him with this—he’s pretty sure Tony doesn’t always, not all his dates. Tony’s scars pebble under his tongue, and he follows one outward to a nipple, flicking at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Atta boy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, baby, lick me just like that, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> think of my cock down your sweet, sweet throat while you do it,” Tony directs, his voice only slightly shaky. He keeps his hands to himself, but it hardly matters. Tony could fuck Steve using only his </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve drags his tongue more roughly down, tracing the definition of Tony’s abs, following Tony’s treasure trail all the way to the button of Tony’s pants and then back up to dip into Tony’s belly button. “You like that, too? You want me to beg you to put your slutty tongue up my…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Stark,” Clint exclaims. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, all right.” Tony gently shoves Steve back. “Your roll.” He reaches for the die and puts it directly into Steve’s hand, so all he has to do is roll it. That’s good, because the floating sensation is only increasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five. What was five?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grinding, choking, grabbing,” Tony reminds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.” He twists and points to Clint on one side of the sofa. “I liked your interpretation of grinding.” He turns the other way, facing Tony, sure his eyes are flashing dark with lust. “If you grab me by the throat, does it count for both?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony looks at him like he’s hung the moon, and then does exactly as instructed, reaching out and clamping his hand down on Steve’s throat, not at a dangerous angle to the trachea, but in a way that restricts Steve’s carotids. He drags Steve into his lap by that handle, and Clint actually grabs him by the back of the neck, fingers overlapping Tony’s, to form a brace as he stands behind Steve and grinds the heel of his hand down one side of Steve’s spine. It feels like their hands are making a collar, and Steve feels like he’s actually floating on air, held by Tony’s penetrating gaze. Clint does the grinding maneuver a few more times, but then he moves on to other spots, triggering Steve’s pressure points with unrelenting fingers and making him moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe,” Tony murmurs, and Steve inhales slowly, feeling the relief of Tony’s hand going loose around his neck. But then at the top of his inhale Tony squeezes again, compressing, deliberately choking him. Steve holds his eye contact like it’s an order and lets Tony slowly choke him again, their mouths inches apart. Clint finds two points near the hinge of his jaw and Steve melts, whimpering when Tony gives him a bit more air. He wonders if Tony would be willing to choke him all the way out. It doesn’t seem like a first date question. Tony guides him through a few more cycles of breathing and choking, and Steve’s mind feels very far away, his skin tingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s still in Tony’s lap when Clint rolls again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey, thought,” Clint announces after rolling another four. “What if we make this interesting? I’d like to lick those abs,” he grins at Steve, who has twisted to face him. “But what if we add some of Tony’s Patrón Silver to the picture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh,” Tony agrees. “I like the way you think. Up, Rogers.” Steve stands, still feeling kind of hazy and off balance, and Tony takes advantage, walking him backwards to the bar. When his back hits it, he gasps softly, and Tony just smirks at him. “Up on the bar, on your back,” he orders, his voice going a little harder. “It’ll hold.” Sure enough, the wide counter is enough to take Steve’s weight, though he takes up its entire length, lying there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony unscrews a fancy clear bottle and hands Clint a lime and a knife. Clint pushes aside the open panels of Steve’s shirt and tugs the hem of his undershirt up to its V-shaped collar and then forces it all up over Steve’s head and behind his neck. Steve has to lace his hands behind his head for it to be remotely comfortable. Once Steve is thus exposed, Clint slices the lime in two quick slashes right over Steve’s stomach. Juice dribbles onto his skin, and Clint places the knife out of the way, rocking the wedge out of the lime and unexpectedly sticking it into Steve’s mouth, rind-side in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold that, darling,” Tony smirks. The lime is soft and sour on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave the dirty talk up to you,” Clint offers. “You’ve clearly cornered the market.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs and hands him a shaker of salt. “As you wish. Don’t forget to lick him first. Salt sticks better that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ve been around the block once or twice,” Clint smirks, then licks a stripe up Steve’s chest. Tony’s watching. It seems like he’s always watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doubt he even knows what a body shot is,” Tony purrs. “But he’ll still lay back for one, pretty as any Spring Break co-ed.” Steve shivers and Clint sprinkles a line of the salt over the spot he licked. Then he licks again, and a hand is on Steve’s hip on each side, pinning him, before Tony pours cool liquor right into Steve’s belly button. Clint slurps most of it out as Tony pours, but a thin stream runs down one side of Steve’s stomach, onto the bar. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dirty</span>
  </em>
  <span> boy,” Tony murmurs. He lifts the bottle and Clint licks up the excess, even as he shudders a bit at the burn of the drink. Steve moans under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take the lime now, Clint. He wants you to, look at how hard his dick is.” Clint smirks, glancing down, and then comes up and Steve understands suddenly why the lime is backward. Clint sucks at the fruit, but doesn’t actually lift it from Steve’s mouth, so it’s like an obscene kiss until he finally spits it onto the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me the salt,” Tony demands. And then he climbs up onto the bar himself, straddling Steve’s hips. “I know how he wants it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so entitled, so sure of himself, and that just makes Steve harder. Clint sticks another lime wedge in Steve’s mouth, and Tony licks and sprinkles the salt from one nipple across to the other. Then he grabs Steve by the hair, forces his head back off the end of the bar, and Steve feels liquid pooling into the hollow of his throat and between his collarbones even as Tony sucks the alcohol from his skin. Tony sucks thin skin between his lips, too, hard enough to bruise, and then claims the lime wedge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Steve moans, as soon as Tony spits out the lime. He looks triumphant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the begging.” Tony grins and swings his leg off of Steve’s lap, climbing down. “My turn, now.” Steve blinks. He had honestly forgotten about the verbs, but it doesn’t really matter as Clint helps him down from the bar, relieving him of his shirt at the same time. It’s probably stained and Steve doesn’t really care. The undershirt feels a little like bondage with his arms down, so he leaves it be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One,” Tony claims, over by the sofa area. “Scratching. Kissing.” And then before Steve can get back to where they were sitting, Tony meets him halfway, yanking him down for a deep and dirty kiss tasting of tequila. They’re still making out fiercely, Tony’s nails raking deep red lines down Steve’s chest, when Clint cuts in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Steve. It’s your turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pulls back from Tony, gasping, and turns to look at Clint. He’s sure his eyes are wild. “Fuck, I don’t  care,” he groans. “Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hit</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.” He knows it’s desperate, all his cards are on the table, but Clint just slams both hands into Steve’s chest, hard, knocking him right back into Tony. Tony stumbles but recovers and holds them both steady. Steve’s basically drooling as he looks up to Tony’s face, and he doesn’t care. Tony grabs him hard by the hair and yanks down until Steve hits his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony steps back, barks, “Put your hands down,” and as soon as Steve obeys he gets a solid </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Clint’s boot into his ass. The pain is delicious, shakes his whole body, and Clint steps back for another. With anyone else, Steve might be worried for his balls, but Clint never misses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, Tony leans forward and grabs Steve by the back of the neck. The touch grounds him as he moans and lets himself tumble into the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now your pants have to stay on, Cap,” Tony purrs. “While you get your </span>
  <em>
    <span>verbs</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve regrets everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony yanks him up by the shoulders, and Clint backs off. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was it?” He thwacks both palms, underhand, into Steve’s chest. Clint steadies him from behind. “Didn’t you also like </span>
  <em>
    <span>slap</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Another delicious stinging strike across the face. “Hey Clint, could you give that peach a nice </span>
  <em>
    <span>punch</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, Stark.” Clint crouches behind Steve and swings a fist against one asscheek, then the other. The blows push Steve’s face against Tony’s groin. Pants or no, the man’s obviously fully hard. Steve opens his mouth against it, he honestly can’t help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, Steve,” Tony groans. Clint keeps punching, and he rattles Steve’s body, but he still keeps his mouth gentle on Tony’s package. “Show me </span>
  <em>
    <span>suck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve moans and applies his lips to the fabric-encased bulge, getting it wet, pulling with his lips and trying to hollow his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony tugs hard at Steve’s hair, and he tries desperately not to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not from </span>
  <em>
    <span>sex dice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That would just be wrong.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I almost got through an entire kink fic without humiliation but then I read back this line “You want me to beg you to put your tongue up my…” and obviously “tongue” was missing the modifier “slutty.”</p><p>Also, this got cut for continuity, but I wanted to share it anyway because it’s 100% how I headcanon MCU!Steve and Fraction-Inspired-MCU!Clint (also my headcanon: Clint’s the one who taught Steve about the phrase “no homo”): </p><p>“And what do you plan to do about it?” </p><p>Clint being Clint, he vaults from the couch over the coffee table, catches his back foot a little, stumbles, but recovers and then grabs Tony hard by the hair before he can laugh much. </p><p>Steve marvels a bit at how Clint can be both so hot and such a disaster.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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